


24 pieces of red card stock

by biancadelfellatio



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Kidlock, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad Sherlock, mycroft is rude and heartless, sad baby sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biancadelfellatio/pseuds/biancadelfellatio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day in year three, and the assignment was to make valentines for your classmates. It's a bit hard to take when you don't get any in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	24 pieces of red card stock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Foreverwholockedme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foreverwholockedme/gifts).



> Several months back I was scrolling through my tumblr dash when I saw highfunctioninggaybaby's post, "Lol imagine little Sherlock in school sitting at his desk trying not to cry because none of his classmates gave him any valentines" and I was like, wow, that's not an 'lol' moment, that's actually devastating and I LOVE IT. So, obviously, I decided to write a short fic about it.
> 
> I think I've got the gifting thing down, and I think that's what's appropriate in this sort of situation? So, yeah, I found their ao3 account through a bit of stalking (and check out their blog if you haven't, it's great) and basically, thank you for your heart-wrenching text post because it inspired this. 
> 
> Here's another poorly written one shot.

Sherlock never liked Valentine's day. In his opinion, it was a bit cruel, forcing children to declare their love for each other.

Year three was the worst Valentines Sherlock could remember.

He had been staring out the window, and it was raining. How fitting for such a sad day. Sherlock figured all the romantic couples would like it though, as they could share their umbrellas.

The desks in Mrs. Murray's room were arranged in a 5x5 formation, and Sherlock had taken the seat in the front right corner of the classroom. Ironically, there were only 24 students in the class, and the seat to the left of Sherlock was left empty. He figured they didn't want to have to talk to him. But his isolation was fine. Sherlock liked the seat because he could look out the window when he got bored with the lesson, which happened often.

Their homework assignment for today had been to create valentines for their classmates. Sherlock thought it was trivial, since the assignment only had two guidelines: write at least ten valentines, and only say positive things to your classmates.

Sherlock had sat at his desk the night previous, surrounded by card stock, scissors, and colored pens. He stared at the assignment, wondering to whom he should write valentines. He hardly ever talked to any of his classmates, but he needed quantity for his grade.

He grabbed a piece of red paper with his stubby fingers and folded it in half vertically, cutting down the crease. He then cut each piece into thirds.

Sherlock selected a glittery silver pen, and uncapped it, holding it above the card. Who would he write to?

Ah, maybe Mina. Mina would talk to him, sometimes, during recess. Sherlock sat by himself on one of the benches on the playground, as he was never invited to join in any of the games the other children played. When Mina's best friend, Eve, wasn't at school, Mina would sit with Sherlock. She didn't try to talk to him much, but sometimes she commented on the clouds.

_Dear Mina, I like the way you see things in the clouds, and how they differ on sunny and rainy days. Thank you for being my friend. Happy Valentines, Sherlock._

That was one down. Sherlock waited for the ink to dry and then folded the valentine in half, hiding the silvery message.

Who else would he write to? Sherlock pondered for a moment. The first day of school, Christopher had asked him if the seat behind him was taken. In October, he'd apologized to Sherlock for kicking the back of his chair, and Sherlock had told him it was fine. He'd thanked Sherlock for passing back papers on seven separate occasions.

_Dear Christopher, Thank you for being a nice person. I'm sorry if you can't see past my hair, sometimes. Happy Valentines, Sherlock._

Sherlock capped the orange gel pen and folded his second valentine. Then, after trying desperately to think of another eight people he found special in the class, Sherlock decided to write a valentine for everyone. He knew that the rules were bogus, anyway: some students would get more than others, and Sherlock thought everyone deserved a chance to feel appreciated.

It took him two hours longer than estimated, but Sherlock felt very happy with his creations. He had managed to write something unique and thoughtful about each of his classmates. Sherlock fell asleep both excited and tired, as rain began a soft patter on his windshield.

The rain hadn't let up the entire night, and it still fell outside as Mrs. Murray announced to her students it was time to get their valentines out and on the table. She walked to each row and passed out the bags they had decorated the day previous, in which they could collect their valentines. She then brought the tape container to each student so they could tape their collection bags to the front of their desks as she counted the valentines for credit.

Excited chatter ensued as the other kids began eyeing each others' valentines. Eve Grossie had bought valentines with lollipops, and Michael Robin had bought ones with temporary tattoos. The children were fawning over his.

Sherlock stared down at the large pile of his own valentines as Mrs. Murray brought him the tape.

"You made valentines for everyone, Sherlock? How sweet." Sherlock nodded as he ripped off a piece of tape and attached the decorated paper bag to the front of his desk. As Mrs. Murray left to finish collecting her data, Sherlock organized his valentines by rows, to ensure he would be able to place them in his classmates' bags in the most efficient way possible.

"All right, everyone," said Mrs. Murray as she walked back up to her desk with tape roll and clipboard in hand, "I know you're all eager to exchange your valentines cards, so let's go ahead and get started."

The children all sprung up boisterously and started weaving through the desks to reach their friends' mailboxes, and Sherlock couldn't help smiling a bit as he joined the fray. He quickly released all of his valentines, his ordered system paying off, and he returned to his seat. He checked his bag. Nothing, so far. That was all right, most of the children were still up anyway, not having planned out their route of passage in an efficient manner.

Sherlock watched as multiple students went up to Mrs. Murray and gave her a valentine. She smiled at each of them, and ruffled the hair of Damien Hatcher, as he gave her a box of chocolates as well.

Slowly, kids began to file back to their seats and rifle through the loot they received.

"Mrs. Murray, can I eat my lollipop?" chirped Maira Kurich.

"You can each have a piece of candy before we get back to our lesson," said Mrs. Murray. She opened the box of chocolates, herself.

As the last student returned to his seat and pulled up his collection bag, Sherlock did so as well. He stared down at the brown bottom of it as he alternated between biting his lip and the inside of his cheek. It was empty. That was fine.

Sherlock quickly folded it up and shoved it in his backpack. Maybe then the other children would think he just decided to eat his candy at home, and he might've received a couple valentines.

He rested his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands, trying to drown out the sound of munching and chatter coming from the mass behind him. Sherlock bit his lip, as it was starting to tremble, betraying the turmoil of emotions that was coming from inside him.

Then, from the back of the class, he heard, "Ew, look at this one."

The voice had attempted to be quiet, but Sherlock knew who it was. Brewer Green.

Brewer Green had a naturally loud voice, and all the girls talked about him. Obviously. Because 'Brewer is going to be the head of the primary basketball team' and 'Brewer's hair looks soooo good all the time' and 'Brewer might be a jerk, but I'd look past that if he asked me to eat lunch with him.'

Sherlock looked over to see a crumpled piece of red card stock fly into the trash bin. He'd tried to put all his negative feelings for Brewer aside for the day, and he'd written him a compliment about his athletic skills.

Sherlock's resolve broke when he heard some of the other kids giggling, picking up some whispers about what he'd written them. He heard Mina laugh.

He hated them. He hated all of them. God. Sherlock nonchalantly wiped his cheeks. His eyes were starting to betray him, along with his lips.

"All right, all right, everyone!" said Mrs. Murray, continuously ignorant. "I know that you want to go through all your valentines now, but we do have some maths to learn."

The class groaned collectively, while Sherlock was more focused on keeping the knot in his throat from bursting out in an embarrassing manner.

As Mrs. Murray droned on about an alternative method for long division (boring, he'd already taught himself this two years ago) Sherlock slowly worked on reducing the prickling feeling in his nose, and calming the upset flush that had appeared on his cheeks.

* * *

Sherlock ignored his mother when she asked him how his day was. He dropped his schoolbag in the hallway and ran up to his room, slamming the door as he felt the unpleasant emotional sensation returning. Having fought back tears all day, the sobs burst forward easily as Sherlock buried his face in his pillow. He hated his classmates, and he hated Mrs. Murray. He hated himself for putting forth the effort and thinking it'd be reciprocated. Most of all, he hated this bloody stupid holiday.

After the sobs stopped, Sherlock lay in his bed dejectedly, not bothering to remove his head from the wet mess he'd created in his pillow. About half an hour later, Sherlock heard a car pull up. His brother's school had let out. He listened silently as Mycroft's footsteps tracked into the house, paused (likely where Sherlock had thrown his bag,) and moved to outside his door. A soft knocking resounded.

When Sherlock didn't answer, his brother entered anyway, closing the door gently behind him. He walked over to the bed and put his hand on Sherlock's back.

"Something at school happened today out of the ordinary, because otherwise you'd be nearly finished with your homework at this time to get on to reading, or other further studies." Mycroft paused, his upper lip curling with a tinge of scorn, "You were under emotional distress, because your bag was cast aside haphazardly to get to your room as quickly as possible. Therefore, something at school upset you more than usual, and considering the date, I believe it has to do with Valentine's. Am I correct?"

"I hate them," Sherlock mumbled into his pillow. "I hate all of them. No one gave me anything, and they started throwing the cards I made away."

"Did you expect them to make you valentines?"

"We were required to make ten. I thought, at least, one person would like me enough to make me one."

Mycroft paused for a moment. "Did you believe they would make you one because they cared for you, or because of the requirement and pity?"

Sherlock did not reply.

"There is no advantage when you do something out of care, brother. The sooner you learn that the better."

Mycroft stood, adjusting his school uniform, and walked out.


End file.
